“Too gray,” said Miss Goodwin, forgetful, and then quickly supplemented, “isn’t it?”
He added something else.
“Too brown,” said I.
Once more he patiently mixed.
“Too muddy coloured,” I corrected.
“It must be fun to be a painter,” said the girl.
“Oh, we get used to it,” said he.
“Try a little yellow,” I suggested. “I want that tint warmed up a trifle.”
He did so, and something emerged which looked right to me.
“That’s a queer olive, though,” said the girl.